The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “Come on. We’re almost there.” Noé slid past him and pulled on his hand to lead him around the last boulder. Cary scanned the rock field below one last time to see if they had left any obvious traces of their passing. In the fading moonlight, he could only imagine. Noé tugged again on his hand. He turned and followed her.

  Around the boulder was a long, narrow passage. Faces of rock rose fifty feet on either side leaving a valley a couple of paces across. Water ran through the bottom, rising up the rock walls deep enough to reach their knees. Cary eyed it skeptically. The valley was almost perfectly dark. The moon was low enough now that only the slightest glimmer reflected off the rock wall to their left. Almost nothing made it to the bottom. The water could have been ink. There was no way to tell what dangers awaited them.

  “Water flows down,” Noé reminded him as if reading his thoughts. “We can’t hear it falling, so the ground must be level.”

  She was right, Cary knew. The trickle of the water running between the rocks they’d just traversed was the only sound in the stunningly quiet night. If there were a falls, they’d certainly be able to hear it. And the water had to be running constantly down, there could be no sudden cliffs or obstacles.

  “Where the horse?” Cary asked suddenly realizing it was missing. He looked behind them, but the rocks were clear. He listened but could not hear the animal’s steps or breaths.

  “There’s only one place it could have gone,” Noé answered. She took his hand and led him around the boulder into the stream.

  The water was ice. Rising above Cary’s knees, encompassing his feet and shins, his legs were almost instantly numb. He winced against the pain of it and felt a shiver rise all the way through him. A tug on his hand reminded him what they were doing, so he stepped cautiously, forcing his feet through the icy water that resisted him with a stronger current than he’d expected. So it was, step after step, that they made their progress through the stream, feet numb, teeth rattling, bodies shaking, locked hands the only parts of them still warm.

  Until they came to a slab of rock. It stood at least twenty feet and filled the canyon completely on either side. There was no way past it. The faces of rock on either side were sheer. The boulder itself slanted toward them so that it hung over them from the top. Maybe in the light, maybe with a rope, maybe by himself, maybe rested, Cary could find enough footholds to climb the boulder at one of the two sides where it was pressed against the walls. Now, he was almost too tired to walk, let alone climb. His hands were shaking with the rest of him, would never be able to hold the rock. His feet were beyond numb, would never be able to feel out footholds. And the water, rising now above their waists, only made it harder.

  “Where is that damn horse?” Cary asked again, teeth rattling so that he could barely form the words.

  “Does it matter?” Noé’s words seemed less affected than his, almost normal.

  “I don’t think we can get around this,” he finally said, “but the horse must have made it out somehow. If we knew how, we could follow it.” He looked again at the rock faces on either side. Had the damn thing found a path up there?

  Noé took a deep, shaking breath and squeezed his hand. “Maybe it can fly and just never told us.” Somehow, she laughed. She let go of him and stepped to the stone, placing her hands on it. Her feet shuffled to the side in the icy pool. Cary could only watch her, arms wrapped around himself, shivering so that he could barely move. Eventually, her feet carried her to the far edge of the stone. Her hands fell beneath the water, and she went to her knees, allowing the frigid water to almost completely encompass her. She squealed, but it was with delight. “The water has to come from somewhere,” she exclaimed and plunged her entire body into the pool.

  A second later – it felt like forever – she rose again, nearly lost in the darkness a few feet away. “There’s a way through. It’s tight, but we can push ourselves through. It’s only a few feet. Follow me.” And with that, she disappeared again into the black water. Cary wanted to scream at her to stop, but he was too cold, too tired. Instead, he shuffled toward her and watched the shadows of her slim, white legs kick and push at the rocks, creeping slowly forward until they too disappeared.

  Cary’s breath caught as he stared at the bottom of the rock. Had she made it?

  “Come on, Cary,” a voice called from the far side of the boulder. “You are no bigger than me. You can make it.” Her words came in gasps. It sounded like she was working hard to make them. It must have been a strenuous journey. Cary wondered if he still had the strength for it.

  Be the . . . he cut off the idiot mantra, took a deep breath, and lowered himself into the water. It felt like his entire body was encompassed in ice. He brought his head back up but could barely breathe. His chest ached, arms hurt, head pounded, fingers burned from the cold. Still it took several seconds and a number of additional breaths before he could force his head back under. He felt for the opening, found it with his hands, but it was pitch black in the water and he had never felt anything so cold. Body barley responding to his commands, he forced his head into the passage, felt the current pushing him back like a gale wind. He drove against it with his feet, pulled with his hands. His feet slipped and pushed and slipped again. His hands clawed for purchased. His entire body writhed to move forward. His lungs burned, heart hammered, head throbbed. But slowly, ever so slowly, he made his way through the opening until he could wiggle his arms out. They pushed on the far side of the boulder. His legs followed, but the water did not end.

  Eyes flying open, he nearly panicked. The water still surrounded him. It was lighter now, illuminated by the moon. He looked up, saw the light several feet above, and pushed toward the surface.

  Noé grabbed him as soon as he broke through, held him by the collar of his shirt as he sputtered and gasped. She clung to a cleft in the boulder and kicked with her legs to stay above the water. His hands found the same cleft and held though he could no longer feel them. He could barely breathe for the cold. His entire body shook beyond his control. What little energy he still had was seeping quickly away, drawn greedily into the icy water, and all he could do was cling to that rock and let it take him.

  “Can you swim?” Noé asked in his ear. “We’re in a small lake. The shore’s not far, but I’ve never swum in anything bigger than a bath. You . . . you’ll have to help me.”

  Cary nodded. He looked toward the moon hanging in the sky above a large, flat plain. It illuminated the water, shimmering off its black surface. That shimmer stopped fifty feet away. That was the shore. “Hang . . . hang on to my belt. I’ll pull. Try . . . try to . . . kick.” He could barely manage the words, but there was only one way to escape the cold. He pushed off from the rock, felt Noé’s fingers wrap around the back of his belt and pulled for all he was worth.

  #

  The horse was waiting for them. Cary had no idea what the creature had done but it wasn’t even wet. Thanking the Order, nonetheless, he pulled the fur cloak from the bag at its side – he was shaking so hard that he could barely manage even that – and began to wrap himself in it.

  “Clothes off first,” Noé scolded. Cary gawked at her in the moonlight. He could barely stand for the convulsing of his frozen muscles. His teeth chattered so that he thought they might break. His hands and feet were numb, but his toes and fingers burned like they were on fire. He needed to get in that cloak before he froze completely, but Noé just tore it from his hands and started unlacing his shirt, ripping off his vest, and unbuckling his belt. Somehow, she seemed barely chilled despite having been in the same water for the same amount of time. “Do you think I’ve never seen people claimed by the ice?” she asked as she pulled down his pants. “Staying wet will kill you.”

  Cary didn’t even register that he was naked. Never in his life had a woman undressing him meant so little. The fur was the only thing he could think of. Even when she pulled her own dripping dress down over her shoulders and allowed it to fall to the ground, even with the moonlight
perfectly illuminating her, he felt nothing but the cold.

  Only when they were stripped did she pick up the great cloak. Holding it with both hands, she positioned it so that the fur was across her back and then embraced him from behind, encompassing him in her warmth and that of the fur. “Shhhh,” she urged, warm breath in his ear. “I will warm you. Concentrate on me, feel my heat, feel it driving the cold away.”

  And Cary could feel her warmth, her softness, her nipples pressed against his back, her legs rubbing on his, her arms holding him, her face on his shoulder. She repeated her words, and Cary felt his shaking ease, felt feeling returning to his hands and feet, felt his sense come back to him. But the shaking was replaced with exhaustion. The stream, the lake, the cold had taken what little energy he had left. He eased to the ground with Noé supporting him, she tucked the great cloak under him as he came down then laid beside him, still pressed to his back, leg draped over his. Somewhere, some part of him told him that he should want more from that, but the call was lost to the hum in his head.

  #

  Somehow, Noé had built a fire. That was the first thing Cary noticed when his eyes came open. He was looking at a small, dim fire that had burned nearly to embers. Hanging by that fire were their clothes laid out on piles of rocks gathered from the banks of the nearby lake. It seemed far less daunting now, less than fifty paces across each way, little more than a depression that led down to where the boulder had blocked its progression down the side of the mountain. The sun was up, rising just above the peaks to the east, illuminating a great high pasture stretching for miles until it hit the crags that caged it. It was a breathtaking scene, the kind of scene that most people would never see, that they could not even imagine, that they would not believe existed in all the world. It held Cary’s attention for only seconds.

  Noé stepped into his vision. She was naked, profile to him. He watched her move, eyes on her long neck, round breast and rear still plump from the baby she’d lost. But even those sights did not hold him. He turned again and again to the bruises, purple, green, yellow covering her in a pattern like a calico cat. Some long and thin, others broad and round. Small and large they seemed almost more prevalent than the white skin they marred. Still, she moved easily, walking effortlessly over the thin grass and lifting her dress without a hitch over her head. Thus dressed, she turned and looked at the world around them, admiring the pasture, the mountains, the lake, the small stream that fed it in a full circle until she ended on Cary.

  “You’re awake,” she said with slight surprise. The tiniest bit of red rose in her cheeks, illuminating them. She followed his eyes to her face and lifted a hand reflexively to cover her deformed lip. “How are you feeling? The ice almost had you last night.”

  Cary realized only then that it had been the removal of her warmth that had roused him, that a moment before she had been laying naked beside him. His mind flashed to how it might have gone if he had come round sooner. He pushed the thought away just as fast.

  “I’m tired and sore, but I’m not shivering anymore. Thank . . . thank you for warming me. I . . . I’ve never been so cold.” He sat up and realized how incredibly sore he was. “How is it that you didn’t freeze in that water? It was like swimming in ice.”

  She chuckled, still covering the split in her lip. The red claimed a bit more of her cheeks. “I am a Morg and an Esselhelt Morg at that. The winters there are like nothing you have ever known. But the cold fears us, not the other way around.”

  “But don’t Morgs just stay in their lodges during the winter?” Cary could not imagine getting used to what he’d felt last night.

  “Most do, but there are still things that need to be done outside, and it is certainly not Order Keepers or Mothers who are doing them.” She laughed at that, eyes becoming playful.

  “Tell me,” Cary insisted as he rose. He considered his nudity before leaving the warmth of the fur but decided it was foolish to feign modesty now.

  “Why would you want to hear my stories?” Noé waved him off and looked away, blush rising all the way up her neck to her forehead.

  By the Order, no one has ever asked her about her life, Cary realized as he watched her. And I am no better. We’ve been together for a week, and not once have I asked about her life before I walked into it. It was enough to stop him completely. “I’m . . . I’m sorry I’ve never asked you before. I’ve told you countless stories about my life at the castle and traveling as a courier, but . . . .”

  “Put on your clothes,” she chastised. “Despite our efforts last night, I am sure we have not lost those men. Even if they follow the wrong path, they will not just stop. You have no idea what you’ve done, . . . what . . . what they think you’ve done.”

  “Then we will run from them. We will hide where they will never find us. We will disappear.” Cary pulled on his pants. He lifted the shirt over his head, pulled it down, and walked to her. He came in close, placing a hand behind her neck. The other wrapped around her waist. “But I will never leave you. I want to know about you. I want to hold you. I want to be with you. And I want to kiss you.” He had to lift himself slightly to reach her, but he was used to that. He was not used to how tentative she would be, how unprepared, how sloppy.

  “I’m sorry, that was awful,” she said when he pulled away. She retreated several steps and turned from him. “I am . . . I have never . . . no one has ever . . . . You are so nice to me, but I am not what you want. I . . . .”

  “You’ve never been kissed,” Cary interrupted, coming to her side, placing a hand on her elbow. “The Maelstrom take me, I should have realized.”

  He came around to face her and forced her to look at him. “I know what you have been through. I understand,” he said, then continued despite the shaking of her head. “My father . . . .” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “My father used my sisters just like . . . just like the order master did you. I loved one of them very much, but she found a man just like Zhurn.” Noé retracted at the admission, looked like she wanted to say something. Cary continued over her, “I could have helped her. By the Order, I should have helped her. I ran away instead. And that bastard killed her.” Cary broke down. He saw Allysa, heard her words, and could no longer hold the emotion inside. “I ran away, and he killed her. I . . . I could have saved her . . . but I . . . .” He crumbled to the stones and shed all the tears he’d been holding with interest to fill an ocean.

  And again Noé held him, her hands rubbing his back, her legs tucked beneath her, and when he calmed, she whispered, “I am not your sister.”

  #

  They filled their stomachs with blueberries from a cluster of bushes along the far side of the lake then rode the pony hard over the high plain. It had filled its stomach with the grasses of the meadow and seemed to have all the energy of a long rest. As they rode, Noé clung to Cary’s back and told him of her life, of gathering snow in the dark to melt for water, of the wind and cold as harsh as fire, of a thousand other chores the filled her days, of sleeping in a corner of the order master’s room on a pile of rags, of reading his books when he was away, of being ignored. But she talked also of running through fields of wildflowers – the only girl allowed outside the lodge – of sneaking through the order passages, of spying, of the young order keepers who were nice to her, of Juhn bringing her treats on the holidays. Though she filled the day with her words, not a one was of her abuse, of the crimes committed against her, of the pain and suffering she had felt.

  I am not your sister. The words echoed through Cary again and again. And he realized the truth of them. Allysa had been betrayed by love. She had loved then had that love turned against her. Love to her became abuse and betrayal. And so she had sought out abuse because that was the only love she knew.

  Noé had never known love. No one had ever held her or kissed her or told her stories late into the night. Everything that had happened to her had been because she was not worthy of love. And so she accepted her abuse because she did not think
she was good enough for anything else. But it also meant that love had never betrayed her, had never hurt her, had never been turned against her. It meant that love could heal her. It could burn away everything that had happened before and make it irrelevant. She was waking from a nightmare. The dream was still there, still cold and dark and terrible, but it was not real, it did not matter. She had only to find the love at her side, hold him close, and know that the horror had passed.

  And that was why she was so different from Allysa. Allysa was already dead by the time he found her tied to that bed. Even if he had saved her from the duke’s son, she would have found another, would have sought that out because it was the only thing she could understand. His only chance to save her had come and gone after that first night. In the morning, when she came stumbling from their father’s room. When that bastard yelled at her to clean herself up. When she’d looked at him, eyes pleading, face a mask of shame, he should have gone to her, should have been with her, supported her, loved her. It was in that moment, not the one three years later, that he had failed. It was when he looked away, when he ran from the room, when he left her with her shame that he had lost her. Love had betrayed her. It was pain and abuse and suffering. And it was all she would ever know.

  Be the man your sister needed. Cary had thought it meant to protect her, to save her from her abusers, to carry her away and defend her. Love her is what Juhn had truly meant. Just love her. That is how he had failed Allysa. It was how he had saved Noé. And it was how she had saved him.

  Chapter 69

  The 56th Day of Summer

  The vest certainly wasn’t comfortable. Dasen tried to adjust it, but it still pinched under his arms, chaffed his neck, and pressed on his shoulders. The morning was hot, and Mrs. Tappers had made him wear his heaviest dress. It was layers thick with a neckline that rose almost to his chin. She said it would be best for concealing the vest, but that was only assuming he didn’t tear it off first.